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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26265607">I Hope They Serve Looks in Hell</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/NormalDemonicBehavior/pseuds/NormalDemonicBehavior'>NormalDemonicBehavior</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>American Horror Story: Apocalypse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, Slow Burn, devil wears prada au</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-22</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 04:54:02</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,510</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26265607</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/NormalDemonicBehavior/pseuds/NormalDemonicBehavior</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Michael Langdon is the biggest name in fashion. Everyone knows the power he holds. Everyone it seems, except you. When you get a job as his assistant you get swept up in his world and your simple life isn’t so simple any more.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jim mason/reader is a thing in this as well, Michael Langdon/Reader, Michael Langdon/You</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>48</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Pre-Fall</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>This is basically a Prologue:</p><p>To the silent observer Michael Langdon has it all. He is rich beyond compare. He is handsome. Men and women alike fall at his feet in the hopes of being a blimp on his radar. He runs the most successful fashion magazine on the market, which was subsequently “passed down” from his father. He could have anything and everything whenever and wherever he desired. So then why was he so unhappy? </p><p>In short, he’s become bored; bored with his work, and bored with his life. Here he is only 35 years old and on his third marriage. He wanted to make this one work, he really did. It’s just that he’s not sure why? Or what he actually wants to salvage? It’s not that his wife isn’t beautiful, she is of course, just as beautiful as the two before her. But marriage has never been much more than a business transaction to him. She was rich, she was attractive, she came from a good family, the sex was good enough, and he didn’t roll his eyes every time she talked. So when his father suggested proposing and gave him the ring, another “family heirloom” just like the two before, (this one was from the 1920’s, or was it the 1820’s? He supposes it doesn’t really matter. It’s going to leave the same mark once it gets thrown at his head, which he’s sure it will at some point). He put it in his pocket and proposed at dinner the next day. He handed it to her over Crème Brûlée at Pastis. He couldn’t even bring himself to be creative with his proposal anymore. Maybe because deep down he knew this wasn’t the last one. If he was lucky maybe he could finish out his 30’s with this one and also give his father the grandchild he wouldn’t stop nagging him about “to ensure the survival of the family name”. It’s not that the wives before wouldn’t have wanted to play a part in the next heir to the Langdon fortune, especially since they wouldn’t actually have to take care of their own child, “that’s what nannies and then boarding schools are for”. But they didn’t want to deal with the damage the “little monster” would do to their bodies. Sure their personal trainers could keep them in shape and they could laser off any unwanted hair, but it just wasn’t worth the risk of stretch marks and discoloring. There was talk of surrogates, but only his first marriage actually lasted long enough to meeting with a potential “client”. And don’t even get them started on adoption. If there wasn’t a blood relation to his fortune then they weren’t interested. </p><p>At first his current wife seemed different. She wanted to make sure this marriage was going to work before she committed to having a child. But after his father died and the pressure was off they stopped having the conversation. When he died, his father took with him any talk of a future Langdon; and if Michael had his way, talk of the past one too. It’s not that he hated the man, no you have to know someone to be able to harber any meaningful negativity towards them. His father was as close to absent as one could be while still trying to raise their child in their image. He could count on one hand the number of times they had a conversation that wasn’t about his future, and his future always revolved around the magazine. The magazine his father had started with his mother when they were just out of adolescence. The magazine that slowly but surely tore their relationship apart. So much so that when his mother died during his childbirth his father didn’t even shed a tear before it was back to work. He wonders if she were still alive, would having a child have “fixed” the marriage? Would it remind them of the things they can create when they work together? How it was out of love that they brought the magazine to light and now this child into the world? Or would they grow to resent him as they grew to resent each other? Who is he kidding, a child wouldn’t fix their marriage just as it wouldn’t have fixed any of his. </p><p>So now after two years of marriage any talk of babies has stopped, in fact all talk has seemed to have stoped between the two of them. The days rarely consist of more than a “good morning” on his way out the door and a  “love you” before bed, that is on the nights he deigns to make it home before she’s fallen asleep. He knew the end was coming with this marriage, all the signs were there, the same signs he’s seen twice before. But he was attempting to save this marriage.<br/>
Don’t get him wrong, he’s not so self-delusional to think that his reasonings were selfless. It’s not because he loved this woman, it’s not because he made her a promise and he wanted to commit his life to her. No, the only thought going through his mind was ‘what will the papers say?’ He knows what they’ll say “The Antichrist scares off another Mrs. Langdon ”. (Credits go to wife number 2 and her Tell-all book for making that nickname stick). </p><p>Now he finds himself thinking about the next marriage. Who will his next wife be? Probably tall, probably thin, surely rich. He wonders if he’ll love her, he wonders if that is actually a possibility to him. Maybe a childhood devoid of any real love or emotional depth has left that part of his brain unable to process the feeling. Sure he gets a yearly physical and the doctors have pressed their stethoscopes to his chest and listened to what’s inside. Since their faces never looked up in fear or astonishment he has to assume they heard the organ in there functioning like normal. Yet Michael thinks his heart has never truly beaten and it has definitely never beaten for someone else. It’s sat there lifeless like an empty crater in the between his ribs all his life.</p><p> Surely this day will be no different. Just another blur or silk scarves and velvet jackets. Here he sits in his office looking over a proposal for fashion week. A designer wants their models suspended above the runway so it will appear as though they are ‘walking on air’. “Groundbreaking” he thinks to himself with a roll of his eyes. There is nothing that seems to capture his attention anymore and no challenge worth his time. That is until the interview for his second assistant walks through the door. (His former assistant sliced her hand open with a letter opener and insisted that getting stitches was more important than catching Lagerfeld before he boarded a 17-hour flight to Australia. Pathetic.) Now as he sees you standing there in his doorway looking like a fish light years away from water, he feels as though something has shifted, as if the world had been momentarily knocked off its axis. You’re wearing a white button down that looks 2 sizes too big with a coffee stain on the collar visible to him from across the room, and citrus colored tweed skirt that hits mid calf. Accentuating the fact that you are the only woman within a 3 block radius who would dare to wear flats in his presence. This should repulse him, he should send you back to the bargain bin where you surely fished that skirt out of. Yet he finds himself equally as intrigued as he is outraged. But it’s more than that, it is as though something inside him stirs. Something so long forgotten he thought it non existent.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>This is my first time writing so you’ll have to bear with me. This is a Devil Wears Prada inspired AU. It’ll follow the basic plot but with some changes. Although I think I want the reader to have more knowledge of fashion than Andy does. Here I just wanted to set up the story and give a little background on Michael’s character.<br/>I thought about keeping his father alive and barely talking to him but I thought it fit better for people to try to take his job if his father was gone for good.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Looking Good and Feeling Fine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>A little character setup and then the interview with Michael.</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>“Oh my god!”<br/>
You were sitting on the couch relaxing with your boyfriend Jim after a long day of unpacking, when you saw the email.<br/>
“What? What happened?”<br/>
“My friend Zoe emailed me, she works in HR at Babylon and apperently there’s an opening for an assistant”<br/>
He just looked at you unamused that the heart attack you just gave him was for nothing. “An assistant? Really? Why is that so special?”<br/>
“Well it’s technically the second assistant, but it’s for the editor in chief”<br/>
“So?”<br/>
“Babylon’s like the biggest magazine in fashion. I used to read it all the time”<br/>
This is met with nothing but silence and a quirk of his eyebrow as if to say ‘and your point being?’<br/>
“If I work for the editor in chief do you know how many doors that could open for me?”<br/>
“A lot apperently”<br/>
“All of them”<br/>
This could be it, this could be your breakthrough. You graduated from Columbia in the fall and just kind of assumed that the perfect job would fall into your lap. I mean you went to grad school wouldn’t that be enough? Sure people said journalism was a dying career path, especially if you wanted to work in print, but you didn’t care. You were going to be a writer and this could be just the thing to push you in the right direction. If you make a good impression here you could get a job at any paper or magazine you wished. 
Okay, being an assistant wasn’t the ideal job but you and Jim just moved into a new place and you were quickly running your savings dry. So if this didn’t work out it meant swallowing your pride and dusting off your server apron. Besides this could open doors at the New Yorker, the Times, maybe even the Wall Street Journal. Alright, you were getting ahead of yourself. You were only getting this interview because it was tomorrow morning and the girl who was supposed to be there ruptured a disc and is on her way to the hospital. Not that you would be thankful of someone else’s bodily harm, but her loss is your gain. 
But now you have to deal with a bigger predicament than whether it would be morally wrong to thank the universe for somebody getting injured, what are you going to wear?! </p><p>It’s 9 o’clock at night there’s no time to go shopping now. That meant you had to make do with what was in your minuscule closet.<br/>
Jim insisted you go through the closest and cut it in half before you moved. “Half the apartment half the stuff” he said. Easy for him to say, even in the old apartment he barely kept any belongings. Still, you had to get rid of the designer dress you kept for special occasions and your date night pumps because “we’re stay at home people anyways” but he got to keep the surfboard he hasn’t touched in 6 years. You know his board represents a part of him, it was once the only thing to bring him solace back when he was in a bad place. But in a way your clothes were like that too. You know it’s not the same thing, that’s why you didn’t bring it up. But the truth is, sometimes you missed the way it was back in the beginning of your relationship. You didn’t necessarily miss the parties, and cleaning up after him when he got out of control at said events. But you missed the nights you would go out and spend hours on the boardwalks and ending up at diners at 2 in the morning talking about anything and everything. 
But compromises needed to be made in relationships, although it seemed that it was always you who was doing so. He needed you. But that’s just the thing, it was always he who needed you and never the other way around. You were his rock, his support, but you wanted the same in return. There were days you felt that you had one role to play and when he felt you weren’t playing it right he’d be disappointed. Jim used to make you feel alive, now you just felt stuck.</p><p>You used to dress up and go out every Friday. You would spend hours in front of the mirror choosing just the right accessories and trying on 4 different shades of lipstick before settling on a tinted balm (Jim didn’t like when you wore too much makeup, he told you he wanted to see the real you not to have to search under eyelashes and glitter to find her, you guess that was sweet right?). Though he never seemed to notice the intricacy of the braids you had basically rubbed your fingers raw redoing over and over until they were just right, and he would roll his eyes at the skirts that would be “too poofy to fit in his car” or those that were “better suited for skulking around a graveyard than going to a house party” you weren’t really dressing for him. Yea it stung a little if he said nothing at all and even more when he flat out told you he didn’t like it, but you liked your outfits and that’s all that mattered.<br/>
Now however, when you do go out it’s with friends from Jim’s work, or with the friends you both shared. And as your relationship progressed, Jim’s “laid back” attitude seemed to catch on and you started to put less and less effort into your outfits. By the time you finished grad school you basically lived in a pair of jeans and an old sweatshirt.<br/>
You don’t even know the last time you shoppped, actually shopped! Not let me pop into Macy’s and pick up a pair of leggings, but spending an entire Saturday strolling down fifth avenue with friends and trying on everything in sight.<br/>
It was this lack of shopping that left you in the predicament you were in now. What in this poor excuse for a wardrobe could get you a job at a fashion magazine?<br/>
Half of the clothes you had left were in boxes at your old place, and what you did have unpacked was not appropriate for anything other than chilling on the couch or going to the movies. But you had style, you knew you did (at least once upon a time) and you were determined to find something.<br/>
“Jim!” You shouted while rummaging through a box in the back of the closet.<br/>
“Yea?” He asked a minute later, popping his head through the bedroom door.<br/>
“Please tell me you still have that Prada shirt your dad left at our old place?”<br/>
Jim’s father always cared too much about his appearance, that’s probably why he felt the need to shun that whole lifestyle. You weren’t the biggest fan of the man, but for this one instance you were never more thankful.<br/>
“..uh, yea maybe. It might be in a drawer somewhere.”<br/>
“Will you please check for me? If I’m in lucky and I packed any of my skirts I think I can make something work with it”<br/>
After giving up attempting to keep any kind of order you dumped out the boxes into a pile on the floor. Much to the annoyance and audible scoff from Jim. But it didn’t matter because you successfully found three skirts. One was a leather mini skirt that left little to the imagination (Jim once told you it made it impossible for him to keep his hands off you, but now he doesn’t even bat an eye at it) probably not appropriate for an interview. The other was a plain black pencil skirt that seemed like the perfect thing to say I am as chic as I am professional, that is if a moth hadn’t had itself a nice meal all along the right side.<br/>
Ok the yellow tweed it is.<br/>
“Well did you find it?” you asked brushing off the old fabric, you’re not sure how long you’ve had this skirt or really why you bought it in the first place, but it wasn’t the worst thing you owned, you figured it had potential.<br/>
“Yea I think so, this it?” The disinterest in his voice only made more apparent by the way he flung it towards you.<br/>
“Yes! Thank god.”<br/>
After a while you manage to pull together a look that you would determine is… “not bad”. Since all your date heels are gone and you wear the same pair of sneaker every day, you have no choice but to wear the only pair of “fancy” shoes you have here, black flats, they’ll do. You add the pearl necklace Jim gave you on your first anniversary (“I was thinking maybe for my gift I could give you another one when we get home” he had told you with a wink)<br/>
“What do you think?” you ask turning to face him<br/>
“You look fine” he mumbles from the bed barely looking up from his phone.<br/>
“Seriously, I need a second opinion”<br/>
After a moment he finally puts the phone down and gets up to walk over to you.<br/>
“The job entails answering phones and getting coffee, What does it matter what you wear?” His tone playful now as he puts his hands on your hips.<br/>
“It’s a fashion magazine, some interest in fashion should be apparent.”<br/>
“I think you look beautiful” you can tell it’s a lie by the way he looks down at your skirt with a frown.<br/>
“I think you’re full of it”<br/>
You want to be angry that he has been absolutely no help, and you can tell he just wants this conversation to be over. But then he’s kissing your neck and unbuttoning his fathers shirt (which you mentally giggle at) and suddenly you can’t think straight. This’ll have to do.</p><p> </p><p>To add insult to injury, the morning of the interview was about as bad as the outfit you were wearing (why did you think this looked ok last night?). You woke up late and missed breakfast. You only had time to grab a coffee on your way out, which you promptly spilled upon the first sip. But without enough time to turn back you had to soldier on hoping nobody would notice.<br/>
(They did, every person you encountered at the Babylon office looked directly at it as you passed.)<br/>
Then the snooty girl, Madison, who was supposed to be interviewing you actually scoffed, very loudly you might add, when you said you were the one who was here for the interview. She was half way through dismissing you when she got a phone call and you watched as all the color drained from her face? You didn’t have time to question why before the source of her panic made his entrance.</p><p>Michael Langdon doesn’t simply walk, he glides. No it’s more than that. It is as though every tile he walks on rushes to meet his step just to feel his touch. When he enters it feels like all the oxygen has been sucked out of the room. But you know that can’t be true because his hair flows over his shoulders like it is being blown by an invisible fan. (You think back to those nights when Jim’s sister Medina would stay over. The two of you would stay up all night watching TopModel, Tyra Banks always told the girls to create their own fan, but you had never seen anyone be successful at it until today, He’s definitely practiced this walk in front of a mirror, you deduce, and the image makes you laugh. But only for a moment before you are right back to being awestruck).<br/>
You are not the only one who can’t look away. The whole office fell silent the moment he walked in, everyone looks both parts entranced and utterly terrified. You should probably take this as a warning but your mind short circuits when asks “who’s that?”. You know he’s talking about you, even though he hasn’t so much as looked in your direction.<br/>
His voice is soft like velvet but with just the hint of rasp, and holds an undeniable authority behind every word. Oh great his voice is as seductive as his face, but how could it not be coming from those lips. You’re not sure you’ve ever seen anything in this life as perfect as his lips. It’s almost a crime that he should have to speak at all, they deserve to just sit there and be admired. They look soft and glossy, like satin, and are perfectly plump. You wonder what they would feel like on your lips, your chest, your...oh god how long have you been looking at them? Far longer than appropriate you're sure.<br/>
Thankfully when you look up he still hasn’t looked at you, he’s taking off his jacket and handing it to Madison, his first assistant.<br/>
Now that his jacket is off he stands in a silk button down, you wouldn’t be surprised if it was made especially for him because it fits him like a second skin. You can see the muscles in his arms flex as he hands her his coat, and the way his torso twists as he heads to his office. As the two of them walk away and it catches the light you see the silk is not simply black but it has a snake skin pattern. Appropriate seeing as how the fabric seems to slither around his body, pulling your focus from his shoulder blades to his spine, then to lower down his back, and down to...focus y/n.</p><p>Now you're stuck in a predicament. You’ve been standing there gawking so long they have already made their way to his office without you. So you have to decide if you should run and catch up to them or stay where you are and wait for permission? Anything seems awkward so you commit to just standing out by his assistants desk staring at his abandoned jacket. It doesn’t take an expert to know the article is expensive, you bet it costs more than a month's rent. The way it looked on him you cannot confidently say it wouldn’t be worth it. You wonder if he’ll ever wear it again or just throw it out now that he’s been seen in it. You wonder if he’ll own it long enough for it to smell like him. You start to wonder what he smells like? Undeniably intoxicating you know, he probably has his cologne made special for him too, and his shampoo, you don’t get hair that smooth with Pantene.<br/>
You bet it would feel as silky as his shirt if you ran your hands through it.<br/>
Okay, you really need to cool it, he’s been here less than five minutes and he already has your mind whirling.<br/>
You guess you feel a little better realizing he has that effect on everyone. However now is not the time to think about those things. If you get this job you can worry later why your palms are sweaty and your heart rate has skyrocketed, for now you are just going to chock it up to nerves and think simple professional thoughts.<br/>
You can just barely hear their conversation from where you stand. And see Madison standing in front of his desk.<br/>
“I was just interviewing her, but she’s clearly not fit for..”<br/>
“Well clearly I’ll have to be the judge of that since you can’t be trusted to pick a competent replacement” he interjects.<br/>
You can’t help but smirk at the way her shoulders stiffen at his remark, maybe he’ll scoff at her too.<br/>
“That’s all” he states simply with the flick of his wrist, and she turns and leaves, accepting defeat without saying a word.<br/>
Once she comes out of the office she simply nods towards the doors with a grimace. You take that as your que to go in. So you do so, on now wobbly legs. </p><p>With a deep breath you pass the threshold to his office. There he sits flipping aimlessly through some paper work, yet to acknowledge your presence. That nod meant go in right? You’re sure there’s no way she’d let you walk into his office if you weren’t meant to be there. Yet he hasn’t given you any hint that he is even aware of your existence. Leaving your mind whirling with what to do next. Should you sit or continue to stand there? Maybe he wanted you to talk first? You were about to just turn and leave, go back to Jim and your unpacked boxes, leave this whole day as mistake and go back to bed, when he finally looked up at you for the first time.<br/>
When your eyes meet you are suddenly glad you hadn’t decided to speak yet, as every thought has been emptied from your mind. Nothing else exists except those eyes. They are a beautiful blue color, they’re precisely cerulean you mentally note. You could swear they glow, creating their own light source that you find yourself getting lost in. You start to wonder if this is what it feels like when people are put under hypnosis, because you are trying to speak but words aren’t forming on your tongue. You are trying to look anywhere else but they are holding you in place<br/>
“I assume you have a resume” he says, breaking you out of your trance and holding his hand out.<br/>
“Uh, yea yea” you stumble out.<br/>
He just stares at you impatiently as you fist around in your bag.<br/>
After you hand it to him the bored expression paints itself back on his face. So you take the opportunity to mention a couple of your credits. Being on the paper in college, finishing with honors, graduating magna cum laude, you even throw in your old bosses high recommendation (sure it was the server job you worked through college, but a recommendation is a recommendation).<br/>
All this seems not to faze him as he continues on flipping through your work as though he’s not even listening. So you throw in how you used to read Babylon in high school for good measure.<br/>
“Used to?” He asks not sparring you a glance.<br/>
“Well yes I had a subscription in highschool but after I went to college I just didn’t have much time for that stuff.”<br/>
“Stuff?” You mentally cringe at the offense you hear in his voice.<br/>
“I, um,  I just mean…”<br/>
“so you haven’t read it since I’ve been in charge?”<br/>
“Um I guess not” to be fair you don’t know how long he’s been in charge, but you would assume someone as young as him couldn’t have been in charge for more than what 5 years, if that?<br/>
“So you don’t know who I am?”<br/>
“No” you mutter ashamed, and certain you just signed your death warrant, goodbye job.<br/>
After what feels like an eternity, but in reality was probably not even a minute, he looks up and casually leans back in his chair starring you down again before he asks<br/>
“Given the opportunity would you eat the fruit from the forbidden tree?”<br/>
“What?” You ask a bit taken aback and caught off guard by such a seemingly random question.<br/>
Michael does not answer just looks at you unamused and tilts his head waiting for a response.<br/>
“Uhh, I don’t suppose I would”<br/>
In all honesty you have very mixed feelings about the story of Adam and Eve. Many of those feelings revolve around the villainization of Eve, and how she has to hold the guilt of the world on her shoulders simply because she had a quest for knowledge. Meanwhile Adam gets painted on chapel ceilings and treated like God’s favorite child. However this is an interview and you assume this man is asking “if I, your boss, ask you not to do something, will you follow my instructions no matter the task?”<br/>
But Michael says nothing to your answer he just sits there stone faced for a moment before getting up.<br/>
“You see I have a gift” he notes as he walks around to perch on the edge of his desk in front of you. His hand taping on the desk just a few inches from your knee.<br/>
“What kind of gift?” You swallow, you’re throat suddenly dry<br/>
“I can see past what people want me to see, past the face they put on for the world, I see behind the makeup, past their taste levels and their sense of style” he pauses, looking you up and down “or lack there of” he adds smiling at the offense written on your face.<br/>
“I can see who they really are, what’s inside their soul, their weakness” he stops leaning in closer<br/>
“their desires”<br/>
“Desires?” You question back, confused as to where this was going. What is he getting at? Is this how every conversation with him goes? But your questions fade to nothing as once again you can’t take your eyes off his lips. Why did that word sound so right coming from them? It’s as though they themselves were the origin of its meaning. You see them upturn into the slightest smirk. Like he knows what you're thinking about and he’s got you right where he wants you.<br/>
“So…” his voice breaks you out of your thoughts “tell me who you really are?”<br/>
“I...I don’t know” the answer seems to come out on its own, definitely not the confident self assured monologue you wish you had been able to conjure up.<br/>
“Why not?”<br/>
Ok you can salvage this, you just have to think of something.<br/>
But when you look up and meet his eyes they are so fierce and so piercing it’s as though he’s looking right through you. Maybe he really can see your soul.<br/>
“I…sometimes I feel like I’m living someone else’s life. It’s like there's someone else inside me, or a part of me that wants to be let out but can’t”<br/>
“What do you mean?”<br/>
“It feels like I decided what my life was going to be” (or someone else did, you think to yourself) “and now I have to be that person whether I want to be or not. Everything in my life is in order, everything fits in just the right box. I’m comfortable, I’m complacent, but sometimes I want more. I want excitement, I want chaos”<br/>
You barely catch the way his pupils dialate at that last word before you have to look away. You’re starting to feel like you’re Perseus and he’s Medusa, if you look him in the eyes again you’re sure you’ll turn to stone. You can’t imagine what will become of you if you look at those lips again.<br/>
“So you think you’ll find chaos here?”<br/>
“I think I’ll find a lot of things here” ” you choose to look at his empty chair instead, it’s far less intimidating when he’s not seated in it.<br/>
“And that excites you?”<br/>
“Yes” you say a little too eagerly. This suddenly doesn’t feel like an interview for a job anymore. You don’t like where this is going or this effect he has on you. Nor the lust that’s so apparent in your voice. It’s like your under a spell. You have never let a man talk to you like this before or caved so quickly to a pretty face. You can fix this, you can prove to him and yourself that you are stronger than his seduction, you can...<br/>
“that’s all”<br/>
Your head snaps up to see him turning and walking back to his chair.<br/>
Then he’s back to looking at the papers before him.<br/>
You sit there stunned for a moment, wondering what just happened, but you suppose that was his way of dismissing you. So you get up and start to walk away confused. This is hands down the strangest interview you’ve ever hand. You feel defeated, you feel degraded, you feel...pissed.</p><p>“You know what you’re right” you remark, turning back around to face him. Much to his surprise, and if you weren’t mistaken, his delight.<br/>
“I don’t fit in here. I am not trendy, I am not discourteous. But I am smart, I am a fast learner. And no.” You state looking him sternly in the eyes “given the opportunity I would not eat from the forbidden tree. I would burn the fucking tree down and burn it for firewood.”</p><p> </p><p>You’re on your way out of the lobby ready to go home and forget about this awful day when you hear your name. Once you turn around you see Madison standing by the elavators looking just as annoyed as when she first greeted you. She simply nods towards the elavators. Is this going to be her sole way of communicating with you from now on? But you don’t dwell on the question for long because your mind can’t wrap itself around a bigger one. Did you really get the job?!</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>Sorry this took longer than intended to update this. I guess this is kind of also a bit of a setup chapter. It was a little difficult to write, for some reason setting up the reader's life was much harder than setting up Michael’s. I thought long and hard about who her boyfriend should be, I was originally thinking somebody else from AHS, but since I already have plans for Duncan Sheppard in this I figured I’d throw Jim Mason into the mix too. But don’t worry, I don’t intend on making him as annoying as Andy’s boyfriend in TDWP. I wanted this chapter to show a bit of the readers conflicting feelings in her relationship as well as those initial feelings about Michael. Also I decided to call the magazine “Babylon” partially because I wanted something biblical and partially because I’m constantly listening to Chromatica. I’m going to try to avoid using dialogue verbatim from the show but I had to use that line about the “forbidden tree” because it was one of my favorites and it just fit so well. Anyway thanks for reading!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Savage Beauty</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Summary for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
            <p>It’s time to start working with Michael but it’s off to a bit of a rocky start</p>
          </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>After you leave, Michael sits in his office, the smallest hint of a smile plastered on his face. It would go unseen to most. The only person capable of reading such minute disruptions in Michael’s stoicism happens to be the woman entering his office.</p>
<p>From the moment Miss Mead enters Michael’s office, she knows something is up. The sad little ragamuffin leaving looked far too content walking away. <br/>People didn’t leave Michael’s office without looking one of three ways. <br/>Panicked, humiliated, or aroused. <br/>Now, your face betrayed itself with a hint of all three, but you were holding it together far too well for this to be any good. There is no way Michael would let someone like you come into his office and leave unscathed. He must be planning something. <br/>She’s not sure what it is, but she knows it can’t be good.</p>
<p>“Who is that? Are we doing a before and after piece I don’t know about?”</p>
<p>“That, is my new assistant” he doesn’t bother looking up from his work, but he knows Miss Mead won’t be fooled by his act of nonchalance. She is his oldest friend, his one true confidant, and the only person able to flush out his secrets, no matter how hard he tries to hide it.</p>
<p>“Oh Michael, what are you gonna do to the poor girl?” </p>
<p>“Why I don't know what you are insinuating?” He answers with a mocking surprise. </p>
<p>She knows better than to try to get involved in Michael’s schemes. If he has his eyes set on something it’s his will be done, no matter how much sound advice she gives him.</p>
<p>“All right, whatever you say, but if we get another lawsuit your intimidating the witnesses on your own this time.” </p>
<p>Michael’s favorite quality about Miss Mead, she doesn’t pry. <br/>She likes to let him make his own mistakes, and is always there to pick up the pieces. She’ll just give him that discerning look of hers and wait for the storm to pass.</p>
<p>He understands her trepidation. <br/>On the two occasions Michael had personally chosen his assistant, they both ended with said employees stripped down in the accessory closet and waiting for him on their knees. <br/>Only to then be dismissed, but not before he laid out every reason he would never actually give them the attention they so desired, let alone touch them. <br/>But he was different then, he was angry and pestilent, and messing with people was a nice distraction from the emptiness he felt. <br/>It had felt good to corrupt the innocent back then. He relished in the way it felt knowing that even the strongest souls could break, sometimes with no more effort than the wink of an eye or a lick of his lips.<br/> Ok maybe he was still all those things, and maybe he did still savor seeing the exact moment someone’s hopes were shattered. <br/>But he didn’t want to do that to you. Not yet anyway. <br/>See, all those people before were transparent. He could read them like a book.<br/> But you, decifering you was like trying to decifer a dead language, or unlock a door with no key. <br/>He had almost given up for a moment. When he saw your eyes glaze over with lust and he could sense you were telling him only what you thought he wanted to hear. <br/>He was disappointed for a time, thinking you were no different than any of the others. <br/>He was about to scold himself for ever getting his hopes up in the first place. <br/>But then you turned to him with the spark of a newly lit match and he saw exactly what he was searching for. <br/>Nobody has talked to him like that in years, actually he’s not sure they ever have.<br/>In fact Miss Mead is the only one in the office brave enough to even make eye contact with him. <br/>Maybe it was a hopeless endeavor, and he learned long ago the errors of optimism. <br/>But you stood there in front of him, a meek naive shell holding behind it all passion and fire. You were a fighter. And he thinks you may have been right, there was something inside you waiting to break out. And he was determined to get under your skin and find it. </p>
<p>//</p>
<p>“You got a job at a fashion magazine?”</p>
<p>The night after your interview you went out to celebrate with Jim and your friends Audrey and Gabe. Although, if you're being honest they were more Jim’s friends than yours. You had met them in college when you and Jim first started dating. They were his roommates, and seemed to be a package deal. They were fun to be around for the most part, but they weren’t really what you would call open minded or particularly encouraging. And they had a habit of talking you out of hobbies or interests they didn’t find interesting. It’s a wonder where Jim gets it from?</p>
<p>“Yes. Why is that so hard to believe?” You ask back feeling a little insulted by their scepticism.</p>
<p>“No reason” Gabe laughs looking down at your baggy sweatshirt and faded leggings.</p>
<p>“Hey it’s been a long day, I wanted to be comfortable” you bite back defensively.</p>
<p>“Ok what’s every other day’s excuse?” He shoots back, before they all break into laughter.</p>
<p>“Well maybe I don’t deem you guys worthy of dressing up for?” You snip in a half joke half defense.</p>
<p>“I have a good fashion sense don't I Jim?” <br/>You ask, now looking over to him expectantly, hoping for his support.</p>
<p>“Sure, Yea you could call it that” </p>
<p>And the laughter breaks out again.</p>
<p>“Whatever” you mubble, suddenly regretting even telling them your good news if it was just going to be met with nothing but contempt.</p>
<p>After a minute the joking calms down and they seem to have caught on to your change in mood.</p>
<p>“Hey, I’m sorry. You have a very good fashion sense, I’m sure they’ll all see that” Jim comforts putting his arm around your shoulder and kissing you on the cheek.</p>
<p> You feel a little better that he finally came to your defense, until he adds<br/> “now are you gonna wear the grey sweatshirt or the black tomorrow? Which one is in this season?” </p>
<p>And the hysterics start again as you sink into your seat and start counting down the minutes until this night is over.</p>
<p> It’s not like you are surprised at Jim’s behavior though. He always acts like this around his friends. It’s like he’s putting on a show and more often than not, little jabs at you become the main event. <br/>You don’t even bring it up to him when you’re upset anymore. <br/>He always has the same answers “who cares what they think you know how I feel about you, it’s all in good fun” “oh it was just a joke why are you taking it so seriously” or simply “lighten up”.<br/>It’s better to just let it go until they move on to someone else and wait until you get home and you can spend time with the Jim you actually like. </p>
<p>After a night that never seemed to end, you pay your tabs and say goodnight to your friends. Then you and Jim begin your walk home.</p>
<p>These are the moments you miss the most. The walks home in comfortable silence with Jim. But even though the air has the same crisp scent as the fall evenings in the beginning or your relationship, and he rubs his thumb along the back of your interlaced hand. There’s something different in the air now, it now holds a subtle aura of awkwardness and awaiting arguments. <br/>You start to get the feeling that you need to break the silence. You need to say something, but you have to struggle to find a topic. <br/>Conversations used to come easily, but now you can’t even think of a decent segue out of your thoughts. </p>
<p>“I don’t know what I’m going to wear tomorrow?”</p>
<p> Not the most stimulating, but it was better than the other thing on your mind ‘sometimes I really hate your friends’</p>
<p>“What does it matter? You got the job, the hard work is done” you hear the boredom and indifference in his voice, he doesn’t even try to hide it.</p>
<p>“You should see the way the girls were dressed. Even their stockings were designer, I don’t have anything that comes close”. </p>
<p>“Well I don’t know, what you wore to the interview looked fine, just wear that” he dismisses</p>
<p>You don’t even dignify that with an answer, you just stop and give him an incredulous stare.</p>
<p>“I don’t know why I bother, you clearly don’t care” </p>
<p>It’s less of a complaint and more a simple observation. You’ve been in a relationship with Jim long enough to know if he doesn’t care about something he won’t even feign an interest. You can see it behind his eyes. It's like there is a countdown clock ticking away until the moment he can change the subject.</p>
<p>“You’re right I don’t” he jokes unclasping your hand and grabbing your waist, pulling you closer.<br/>You can’t help but smile and chuckle yourself. He’s too suave for his own good and knows just how to get you to stop talking.<br/> And that way usually involves him kissing you and sneaking one hand under your shirt while the other snakes it’s way down your back. And that’s what he’s doing now, in the middle of a sidewalk, that is not as deserted as it should be for this kind of public display.<br/>“Jim we’re in public” you pull back just as the hand on your lower back starts to slip under your waist band.<br/>“Yea. Yea. Let’s go home then. I can think of something we can do that won’t involve any clothing” </p>
<p>//</p>
<p>Your first few days of work go about as expected. On this morning, Madison basically gaged at the ill fitting blue sweater that you had determined was your best option for the day. You’re not sure if it’s the fit she despises so much or the fact that since you’ve been at the office you haven’t seen a single soul wear a stitch of color. Apparently you missed the memo that you wear black or you wear nothing at all. <br/>However you realize soon she’s at her friendliest when she’s simply judging you with her eyes. When she talks to you it’s either sarcastic insults or one words instructions you barely comprehend. Every time you try to ask her a question it’s only met with laughter. She was basically cackling when you asked her if Loewe was spelt with a ‘vay’?. Apparently it should have been common knowledge to you that the Spanish fashion house had a German name.</p>
<p>Miss Mead seemed to be the only one that treated you on a subhuman level. Although she did give you a look of annoyance that said “you’re going to regret that” when you kindly refused the heels she offered you. </p>
<p>Yet being with the two of them was like catching up with two old chums when compared to being with Michael. <br/>First of all, he didn’t even refer to you by your own name. <br/>Miss Mead had to tell you it was you he was asking for when he kept calling for “Madison” from his office. <br/>And when you tried to correct him he just stared at you for a moment before he started listing off all the things he would need for the rest of the day.<br/> And you found out quickly that Madison’s responses to your questions would be considered sweet when compared to Michael. Who you thought for a split second might fire you simply for wondering what kind of scarves he wanted.<br/> He was basically white-knuckled when you asked if you could borrow his pen, and his jaw was clenched so tight you thought he might break a tooth.</p>
<p>Yet the worst moment, the one that will be etched in your memory until the day you die, was the moment you were called into Michael’s office to take notes on his decisions for the featured up and coming designer in next month's issue.</p>
<p>From what you understand Michael has sifted through the vast list of talented women up for selection, whose credits included full rides to Parsons, and multiple years of experience at well know ateliers, amongst others; and he's chosen the one man in the running, whose talents include having a father who was an executive at Hearst and dropping out two Ivy League schools he surely bought his way into.</p>
<p>Like recognizes like you assume. Or maybe they run in the same pack. You’re not certain. But of course this is who he picks. It is a rich man’s world after all.<br/>You don't know why you’re even surprised or why you expected more from him. </p>
<p>But being with him in his element, you were starting to feel a little mesmerized watching him talk about filigree and appliqués. You’d never heard such words sound so sensual before. Or the way he would run his fingers through organza and silk, it was like his touch was magic, the colors suddenly became more vivid and the patterns would come to life under his gaze. </p>
<p>So this was like someone snapped their fingers and awoke you from the haze you were in.</p>
<p>You also don’t realize that your disapproval has not gone unnoticed. The small scoff, you thought you had kept to yourself, happened to make its way to your boss’s ears.</p>
<p>“Something funny?” <br/>You look up from the unintelligible scribbles you call notes, to see Michael’s eyes narrowing in on you.<br/>“Uh no” you scramble to say. You were not prepared to be thrust into the spotlight and the center of not only Michael’s attention, but the entire room’s. <br/>Michael is not only unamused by your disruption, but even less by the fact that you seem to have nothing to say for it.</p>
<p>“Please tell us what you’re thinking. I really value your opinion” he goes on to say, his voice dripping with sarcasm. </p>
<p>You look around hoping someone will help you out of this hole you have unintentionally dug yourself into. But nobody comes to your aid, the two women on either side of Michael won’t even look at you. <br/>Miss Mead looks bored, like this moment happens all the time and she just has to wait for the inevitable flow of tears to end then she can get back to work. <br/>And the worst of all is when you look to the doorway and see Madison, who looks happier than you’ve seen her all day, it’s like your failure is proving some point to her. <br/>You're not sure if it's your low blood sugar from working through lunch, or the fact that you’ve been running yourself ragged for Michael all day with not so much as a thank you, and this is the first time he’s even acknowledged your presence. Either way, you decide fine, if he wants your opinion he’s going to have it.</p>
<p>“I just think it’s an obvious choice coming from someone like yourself”</p>
<p>“Someone like myself?” His voice sounds more amused now but you don’t trust it. However, you must be some sort of glutton for punishment, because where anyone else would take this as their cue to start apologizing and crying you decide to go on.</p>
<p>“Yea, I just think it’s interesting you chose the only man in the running, and another rich one at that”<br/>Every head in the room turns to Michael at that. They know what’s coming, you better board up your windows because the storm is about to hit. </p>
<p>“Well who would you choose?” His voice is calm, almost reassuring, like maybe he really did want your opinion.</p>
<p>“Uh..I...I don’t…”</p>
<p>“Know? No you don’t” his change in tone is immediate, now stern and daunting. There is no more playfulness, no more intrigue. It felt like you were a teenager sneaking in after curfew. Tiptoeing your way to the stairs thinking you were in the clear, only to see your parent flip on the light switch. <br/>You were in for it now. </p>
<p>“Perhaps you think because you are a woman you have an understanding of this subject matter that I don’t. Or that because you’ll spend the rest of your life paying off student loans, that you should have my unearned sympathy. Or maybe because you don’t have enough brain cells to remember I take my coffee with 4 sugars not 3, you think that I put as little care into my work as you do. But if you were capable of any observation you would understand that my decisions stretch beyond what you idly judge as coming from a place of sexism or elitism”. </p>
<p>Michael has a true gift for multitasking, he is still picking through layouts and choosing accessories, even as he continues to berate you.</p>
<p>“There are three candidates here whose talents measure above the others. Ms. Rodriguez here has many great ideas, the designs are good, and the choice of exposed corsets will put it on trend with next season. And with my notes she will be on track to be my first choice then. But as of now the ideas need streamlined. The backstitching on the seams of multiple dresses are sloppy and the accompanying jewelry is the completely wrong choice and distracts from the design. Ms. Johnson’s collection on the other hand, is well crafted, the hemlines are impeccable and the embroidery is some of the best I have ever seen, however many of the designs are too similar to Miu Miu’s spring 2010 collection. She needs time to develop her own unique style and giving her such a platform too soon will not help. She’s liable to not only be sued but also to be black listed. Choosing her may actually end up being more of a detriment. Mr. Drake however, has an interesting take on subject matter, the designs are fresh, and he’s chosen vermilion for many of the pieces, which is going to be the color of the season. And he’s chosen to use completely recycled materials even down to the cotton of the blouses, filling the market for sustainable fashion. I’m sure all of that means nothing to you, who only sees a spoiled man getting rich off a hobby. But if you had any knowledge of the situation you would know that not only has he been working behind the scenes at various houses for years but he is only now putting out his first complete line because he has spent the last 3 years taking care of his bedridden father. Now I know explaining this to you is most likely a useless endeavor, as this information has surely gone in one ear and out the other.<br/> It must be difficult to grasp...for someone like yourself.”</p>
<p>/</p>
<p>It’s not that Michael went into this meeting with the idea of embarrassing you. He was pretty content with just letting you sit in the corner and take notes. He actually thought you looked rather cute doing so. He liked the way your nose would crinkle when you would concentrate on trying to write as fast as he was talking. He felt a charge of energy, like he was a master artist sharing his ideas with his apprentice. <br/>That is until he heard it. <br/>A tiny sarcastic laugh, though the sound was barely more than a puff of air, and may have gone unnoticed in any other room. It managed to stop him in his tracks. <br/>It’s then that he realized he was wrong about this whole thing. <br/>You weren’t astonished by him.<br/>You weren’t impressed with his expertise. <br/>You were judging him. <br/>You, like so many others, thought he was just another spoiled rich boy. <br/>How unoriginal. <br/>He gave you a chance hiring you. <br/>He went out of his way not to reprimand you this morning when you allowed a designer’s office to put him on hold. He even drank the disgusting coffee you handed him and after making him wait a full five minutes for it. If it were anyone else he would have poured it out on the floor and made them wipe it up with that lumpy blue monstrosity you called a sweater.<br/>He made strides for you. And this is how you repay him? <br/>Sure he was used to people's judgement by now, he’s never given it a passing thought. <br/>The opinions of others meant nothing to him. <br/>So why did yours?<br/> No, your opinion didn’t mean anything to him. It couldn’t, you were just an assistant, you were replaceable, you meant nothing.<br/> He certainly didn’t feel like a tiny dagger had stabbed him in the gut when he heard that giggle. <br/>Nor did he feel ice run through his veins when he caught your eyes mid roll. <br/>This did not upset him, <br/>This did not disappoint him.<br/>He would not let this ruin his day. <br/>You didn’t/wouldn’t have that power.</p>
<p>But that didn’t mean this behavior would go unpunished. </p>
<p>//</p>
<p>“You should have seen the look he gave me. I think he was trying to put a hex on me.”</p>
<p>After the rest of the day at work spent trying to avoid Michael and failed attempts at chit chat with Madison, you were happy to get home and relax. Jim decided to order take out and open the biggest bottle of wine in the apartment.</p>
<p>Being in the spotlight of Michael’s scrutiny is not a place you wanted to be in again. You didn’t even want to be there in the first place. You never intended for him to hear you, but he can’t be that surprised at what you were thinking. It’s well known that sexism runs deep with people in power. And the fashion industry is far from exempt to that mentality. <br/>But you have to admit you were wrong in thinking Michael’s decisions came from a place of entitlement, and you feel bad that you jumped to conclusions based on assumptions. <br/>But he still didn’t have to embarrass you in front of everyone like that.</p>
<p>“I swear he is not happy unless everyone around him is on the verge of a panic attack. And the satanists just worship him”</p>
<p>“Who?” Jim asks, plopping down on the couch with your food while you make your way over with the wine.</p>
<p>“Miss Mead calls them satanists because they would all sell their souls to the devil if he asked them too. Plus there are all these crazy rumors about him. Like people think his dad actually was Satan himself, and the whole board of executives have all signed their names in the Devil’s book.<br/>One of the girls even told me that he does blood rituals before each season, and that’s how he’s able to guess the trends”</p>
<p>“Jeeze, that’s dark” he says with a mouth full of food, before handing you a plate for yourself.</p>
<p>You just stare at it, too tired from the day you’ve had to think about eating.<br/>“You know I’m not even hungry anymore, I just wanna go to bed”</p>
<p>“C’mon, who cares about him. This is your favorite and you're just gonna let some guy ruin your mood, and your appetite?”</p>
<p>“Ok he’s not just some guy, he’s my boss” you say relaxing onto the couch but deciding to take the plate back. </p>
<p>“But you’re right, I can’t let him get to me. It’s just one year. I have to keep this job for one year and then I can do what I actually want to do, with people I might actually like.”</p>
<p>“That’s my girl”</p>
<p>After you're finished eating and in bed, you make up your mind. Michael is not going to affect you. You are not going to bring your anger with him home with you, and you certainly aren’t going to bring back any other feelings you might be harboring. However, that may prove to be easier said than done.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>I’m sorry these updates keep taking so long. I wanted to get this out sooner but alas, life had other plans.<br/>This is also more Jim-centric than I planned. I think I have some resentment towards the friends in TDWP that I’m taking out on him in this lol (sorry Jim). <br/>I’m not sure how I feel about this chapter but I wanted to get this out there so I could move on with the next part.<br/>But now that she’s working, it can be all about Michael, the way he likes it.<br/>I knew I wanted Michael to have his own version of the “belt scene” and thought what would offend a man such as himself, probably throwing nepotism and misogyny at him. Plus I thought his handling that would be similar to the way Miranda handles it in the movie. Yes his choices come from a good and unbiased place, but that doesn’t negate the fact that misogyny is deeply rooted in positions of power. Much like the fashion industry is a flourishing place for art and creativity, but is still deeply flawed itself.<br/>I threw in that part about Miu Miu’s Spring 2010 line because for one I wanted Michael to showcase having a somewhat photographic fashion memory, but also because it’s one of my favorite collections (along with some looks in Prada’s spring ‘10 collection too, it was a good year for Miuccia Prada)<br/>Now that these notes are half the length of the chapter. Thank you for reading! Next chapter will be much more Michael, and the makeover.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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